


All the Carrots

by FlutterFyre



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, PWP, Porn, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/963970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlutterFyre/pseuds/FlutterFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q takes a new approach to getting his equipment back post-mission...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Carrots

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on over on Tumblr, I have since edited it, fixing typos and re-porning the porn, and am posting it here so as to ultimately have all my 00Q in one location. Un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms (and an open mind).
> 
> This was a Tumblr prompt fill after I asked for porn prompts. As the saying goes...ask and ye shall receive...
> 
> Anonymous asked, 'Did someone ask for 00Q porn prompts? hehe how about Q riding Bond on his desk?'

A customised Walther PPK/S appeared on Q’s desk next to his laptop. Q continued to type without looking up, lines of seemingly indecipherable words and letters flowing colourfully across and down the screens before him in strange and not quite random patterns.

A miniature radio/distress signal followed to join the weapon, as did an earwig micro communicator moments later. At the last, Q looked away from the dual monitors to peer through his dark fringe at the somewhat worse for wear agent standing beside his desk. 

James Bond was wearing one of his trademark bespoke suits, only this one was not perfectly pressed, rather it looked like it had been slept in for a week, though probably not by him as Bond appeared to have not slept in nearly that long. He had not shaved for at least a couple of days. A purplish-maroon bruise had blossomed along his jaw and butterfly plasters held together a line of split skin extending from the end of his right eyebrow towards his temple. 

“Welcome back, 007,” Q greeted him. “Congratulations on a successful mission. You really should stop by Medical so they can minimise the potential for scarring on your pretty face.” His voice was posh, his tone cool, and his manner entirely disinterested as he returned his attention to his coding. 

A blunt, well-manicured finger tapped impatiently on the desk next to the Walther, demanding the return of Q’s attention.

“You promised me a reward.”

Q’s eyes met eyes of Mediterranean blue and a dark eyebrow rose seeking explanation.

“If I returned my issued equipment intact,” Bond clarified and tapped his finger once more beside the items on the desk, looking at Q expectantly. 

“So I did.” Q lifted the handgun and turned the weapon in his hands, examining it with care. He ejected the magazine clip from the Walther. It was empty. Bond had returned a gun with no bullets rather than simply tossing it aside. That _was_ an improvement. 

Setting the Walther and clip on the bench behind him, Q reached for the radio. When he pressed the button, the antenna did not fully extend but this was a risk inherent in the design and Q was already looking at potential modifications. The radio joined the gun. The earwig appeared to be intact, he would have to test it to be sure it hadn’t been subjected to immersion – whether accidental or intentional – and still functioned properly. 

He put the earwig away and switched applications on his laptop, tapping a handful of keys to restrict access to his office and engage the privacy functions he had installed for critically classified meetings. Q then closed the laptop and slid it and the attached external monitor to one side of his desk, clearing fully half the wood surface. Meeting Bond’s eyes once more, Q let a smile slide slowly across his face and stood, his chair rolling back and away. 

“Come here, agent.”

Bond moved with expectant, predatory grace, a smile of his own curving his lips. He stopped a hairsbreadth from the young boffin, fairly vibrating with tension. “Quartermaster, does this mean I get my exploding pen?” Bond’s tone was light and teasing, respectful but not obsequious. 

“Oh, I think we can do better than that, 007.” 

Bond’s eyebrows arched and his mouth opened, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips, almost tracing the cupid’s bow. Q leaned forward, stopping when his mouth was millimetres from Bond’s. He stared unblinking into Bond’s eyes. For several heartbeats they stayed like that, alternating breaths, sharing air. Waiting.

And then Q was done with waiting. His lips sealed over Bond’s, sucking Bond’s lower lip between his, catching it with his teeth, and worrying it gently. Q’s tongue licked into Bond’s mouth, tasting and retreating, inviting Bond to follow.

It was an invitation Bond eagerly accepted, sweeping onto Q’s mouth like he owned it; or wanted to in any case. It was a blatant attempt to steal Q’s ability to think and Q was having none of it. This was his game and Bond would either play by his rules or there would be a penalty to pay. To be honest, Q was rather hoping Bond wouldn’t play by the rules.

Two steps forward and Bond was backed against the edge of the desk, Q pressed against him, full frontal from knees to chest. His erection was pressed against Bond’s and it was a toss-up as to who was more aroused. He wanted Bond. Grabbing Bond’s arse with both hands, he ground against the other man. In response, Bond’s hands rose to tangle in Q’s hair, trying once again to take control of their kiss. This time Q let him, after all he knew who really held the cards in this encounter.

With a sharp nip of teeth against Q’s full lower lip, Bond tilted Q’s head back to better access Q’s jaw and throat, dragging teeth and tongue, nipping and licking, and all too quickly encountering the primly starched and buttoned collar of Q’s shirt. A hard suck against the pale skin at the edge of Q’s collar and Bond pulled back. The smile the two men shared was primitive, feral. Bond broke the silence.

“Definitely better than an exploding pen, Q. But you have too many clothes on.”

“We both do.” A pointed look at Bond’s rather pitiful looking attire and the two men were kissing again, only this time, there was less languor and more urgency stemming from an increasing need to experience the slide and friction of flesh against flesh.

Long, elegant fingers accustomed to flying across a keyboard now applied that same agility to unbutton Bond’s shirt, spreading it open to reveal a tanned toned chest. Q shoved both jacket and shirt off Bond’s broad shoulders, neatly trapping Bond’s upper arms in the material. The pads of Q’s fingers swept over Bond’s skin lightly tracing the scars scattered across his body. Rather than perceiving the marks as imperfections, Q celebrated each and every one as evidence Bond had cheated death, over and over again.

While there were no new injuries Q could feel, Bond’s occasional hiss indicated the likelihood of bruising, possibly deep. Something to bear in mind; after all he didn’t want to unintentionally hurt Bond. 

Q ended the kiss and his hands moved to Bond’s belt, tugging the smooth leather and releasing the metal tongue before shifting to the fasteners for his trousers. Bond helpfully shifted his hips and Q pulled both trousers and pants until they fell to the floor around Bond’s ankles. Freed, Bond’s cock sprang out at attention, brushing against the front of Q’s pants, causing Q’s own prick to twitch yet again in the confines of his trousers.

Smiling delightedly at the blatant evidence of Bond’s desire, Q slid slowly down the front of Bond’s body, slithering from side to side to maximise the experience for both of them. He enjoyed the feel of Bond’s hard muscular planes through his own clothes almost as much as he relished Bond’s frustrated groans at the fabric’s friction. Finally on his knees before Bond, he gazed at Bond’s engorged cock, tip glistening with pre-come, and licked his lips.

Eyes alight, he glanced up at Bond and paused with his mouth close enough to feel the heat radiating off Bond. Pained frustration was evident on Bond’s face. “So, I _could_ just give you a blow job…” Q pursed his lips and blew air lightly over Bond’s cock.

Bond groaned and his hands reached towards Q’s head before Q intercepted them. “Uh, uh, uh.” He pressed Bond’s palms against the edge of the desktop and watched with approval as the agent’s fingers curled to grip the smooth wood.

As a reward for Bond’s self-restraint, Q licked the pre-come away and dropped a kiss against the tip of Bond’s cock before abruptly swallowing him down. Bond’s hips jerked involuntarily before he stilled them but Q did not continue beyond a few teasing sucks, hollowing his cheeks to increase the overall friction on Bond’s prick. Instead, just as the muscles in Bond’s abdomen were tightening and twitching, Q pulled away; Bond sliding from his mouth with an audible sound. 

“Q—” Bond protested, groaning.

Q chuckled and smacked his lips, licking the slightly salty flavour of Bond from them as he stood and stepped back. His mouth quirked in a smile of approval when Bond stayed put against the desk. It might look like Bond was being restrained by his clothing, but Q knew the bondage was much more personal and self-inflicted. Bond wanted to see what Q would do next.

Turning his back on the agent, Q toed off his shoes before unfastening his own belt and flies. With a coy glance over his shoulder, he shimmied out of his own trousers and pants. As Q bent over to step out of his discarded garments, he heard another pained utterance from Bond, this one unintelligible as the flared base of the butt plug he wore was revealed. Q wriggled his arse and smirked at Bond’s predictable reaction to the fact that he had prepared himself for the agent’s return. 

He crossed back to where Bond stood, meeting lust-blown blue eyes with a cheeky grin. “See anything you like?”

Without looking away from Bond, Q reached down and pulled open his bottom desk drawer, withdrawing a strand of condoms and small bottle of lube, setting them on the desk. Bond released his death-grip on the desk but managed to refrain from reaching for Q as the younger man ran his hands down Bond’s bare flanks. Stronger than he appeared, Q grabbed Bond’s thighs and lifted him up to sit the desk with only a slight grunt of effort, shifting Bond back until his knees caught on the edge of the desk. Q then slowly pushed Bond to lie back across the oversized desk and climbed up to kneel straddling the prone agent. 

Still clothed from the waist up, Q hovered above Bond, his erection hanging down as though reaching for Bond’s cock, lying against his stomach. Weaving back and forth, Q leaned down to drag his cardigan and cock back and forth across Bond’s bare skin. The teasing touches were intended to drive the other man mad, but Q had underestimated how aroused hours of wearing the plug would leave him, much less how it would feel to have Bond beneath him, so thoroughly under his control. 

Q’s prick was leaving streaks of pre-come in its wake and unless he got himself under control soon, he would be done before they had fully started. Bond’s eyes were intent and watching, as Q reached back and worked the plug out, biting his tongue in an effort to stifle his whimpers as the plug brushed his prostate. Once extracted, the plug was dropped, forgotten, to the floor and Q sat back on Bond’s thighs. Bond raised his head to watch as Q wrapped one hand around Bond’s erection, thumb swiping at the pre-come on the head, the tip of his forefinger worrying lightly at the slit. 

Bond’s eyes closed and his head fell back to the desk with a noticeable thump as he gave himself over once again to Q’s ministrations. Q’s hand moved to cup Bond’s testes, massaging them with the palm of his hand as his fingertips teased over Bond’s perineum. 

With Bond suitably distracted, Q reached for the condoms, tearing one open with his teeth. His hands were starting to shake as he worked the condom onto Bond. It had been weeks since Bond had left on this latest mission. The plug had been something, but Q needed to be filled again. By Bond.

Pouring lube into his palm, Q rubbed his hands together, thoroughly slicking both before placing his palms around Bond’s cock and rubbing back and forth as though trying to set kindling ablaze, only it was Bond who, judging by his moans, was getting even more hot and bothered than before. Q shifted his hands, adjusting the angle of his strokes, covering Bond’s condom encased cock in lube before stopping and crawling up so that his knees were alongside Bond’s hips.

Bond swallowed hard and rasped, “Fuck exploding pens.”

“No, 007, fuck _me_.” Grasping the base of Bond’s slicked cock, Q gave a last couple of teasing pumps, being sure to keep the pressure from his grip firm as his hand moved over the thoroughly lubed condom. He then held it steady and slid down hard and fast, impaling himself on Bond’s cock, instantly easing the sensation of emptiness that had begun upon removing the plug. 

“Gah, numpf.” Q threw his head back and gasped at the sensation, unable to articulate a coherent thought. 

Bond groaned in response, muttering what sounded like obscenities in a number of languages. He tried to move his arms, but Q’s knees were now planted firmly on Bond’s jacket, effectively pinning his arms in a way that the jacket and shirt alone had not.

He shifted his hips from side to side and back and forth, relishing the feel of Bond’s cock stretching him, filling him. Linking Bond to him in the most intimate manner possible. At the wet slide of his lover’s hard prick inside him, Q revelled at the knowledge that _Bond was home_. 

Q wasn’t a wilting flower; he could function perfectly well during the many and frequent times Bond left on mission. That said, nothing beat having Bond home again – the warm familiarity of being around someone he cared about, knowing that they were physically there for one another, as opposed to only being available via comms half a world away.

And the sex. The sex was phenomenal. Always had been. And with that thought, Q gave up restraint, put his brilliant mind in neutral, and let his body take over, hips rising and falling. Leaning forward, he stared into Bond’s eyes as he leaned down to steal a kiss and felt Bond’s cock brush his prostate at the change in position.

Bond’s hips lifted to meet him but Bond’s movements were restricted by his position on the desk, not that either of them minded as their mouths met and tongues tangled. Q braced his elbows on either side of Bond’s head as they snogged. His cock was quite deliciously teased as it brushed against Bond’s lightly furred stomach and even with no additional stimulation it wasn’t long before Q felt his balls tighten as a need for release coiled deep in his abdomen.

Breaking the kiss, Q arched his neck, unconsciously seeking relief from the tension inside him. Bond latched onto his throat, licking, nibbling, and sucking greedily as Q groaned his release and tightened his arse around Bond’s cock. Moments later, Bond bit down, clearly careful to not draw blood even as he muffled his own cry against Q’s neck. 

They lay in a collapsed heap, hearts racing and near breathless for several long moments before either moved.

Sated and high on endorphins, Q nuzzled Bond’s throat happily and murmured, “And that’s how you get all the carrots…”

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome podficcing of any of my stories with a request to let me know so I may squee over your efforts and a caveat that the work be linked back to my posted work. Many thanks and kind regards.


End file.
